


Let Me Love You Anyway

by levicas



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Kings Rising, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-16 16:45:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7275952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/levicas/pseuds/levicas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damen thinks they should talk about what happened with the Regent. Laurent isn't so keen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Love You Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> Because I felt like these two needed to discuss what the Regent did to Laurent. There is no way Damen would've just dropped it after KR.
> 
> Includes discussions of previous sexual abuse.

The celebrations continued for nearly a fortnight, and, during that time, Damen took it upon himself to enjoy his fair share of ale. He deserved it - they all did after what they'd managed to pull of against all odds. However, what had started out as _just the odd glass_ had quickly turned into _just the odd entire tankard_  and each morning he was met with a frightful headache and a promise on his lips that, from now on, the relative sobriety would last. Celebrations be damned. It never exactly worked out that way. The cycle continued as it did for several days, all the while Laurent remaining stone cold sober by his side, shooting him sly glances and rolling his eyes when nobody was else looking. Those special glances, they were just for Damen.

It was a justifiable binge, in Damen’s eyes – he had his country back after all, and Laurent had his. And he could, and would, do enough celebrating for the both of them.

Of course, Laurent didn't approve. Killjoy.

“If you don’t stop yourself soon, you’ll end up doing something you regret,” Laurent murmured fondly into his ear, like a snake twisting around his arm. Damen guffawed, everything miles more hilarious than it should be with this much alcohol in his system. But, damn it, it had been so  _long._ It felt like an eternity since he'd been this happy. And it was made all the better for Laurent sitting by his side, their hands inelegantly twined together, loose and content.

“I regret nothing,” Damen drawled, bringing Laurent’s hand to his lips and placing a sloppy kiss on his palm.

“You will not be saying that in the morning,” Laurent’s words were soft as he mimicked the gesture, his delicate lips barely ghosting over the skin of Damen’s knuckles. "And I will be the one who has to put up with your complaining."

"I never complain," Damen lied. This time, Laurent laughed. Only a small sound, accompanied by a small upward twitch of his full lips. It was as close to an outright expression of joy as Damen had ever managed to get out of him, so he accepted the mockery with grace.

“More ale, Exalted?” a servant asked. Damen didn’t turn his eyes from Laurent's face as he shook his head.

“The King of Vere thinks I’ve had enough,” he said, smiling widely. Laurent raised an eyebrow. From the corner of his eye Damen saw the servant bow and scurry away, knowing better than to offer any to Laurent. He'd refused three times already, and rumours were quickly circulating among the Akielon servants that the Veretian King could make a grown man cry using only his venomous words. Best not to provoke his famous anger. The two of them often shared a private amusement about it behind closed doors.

“You should be thankful,” Laurent crooned. “I’m saving you from further embarrassment.”

“ _Further_ embarrassment?”

“Last night, you and Nikandros--”

Damen laughed loudly. He couldn't remember exactly what it was he and Nikandros, in their drunken states, had been doing. Only that it had been tremendous fun, involved stealing several articles of clothing from the bedchambers of various highly influential Veretians, and had resulted in Laurent confronting them, hands on hips like an angry mother, and scolding them for it. They'd both stood before him trying hopelessly not to laugh. It had felt like being a teenager again. “All in good spirits!”

“Despite your resounding lack of impulse control, I think I’m growing to like you Akielons,” Laurent smiled, a small flash of brilliant white teeth and a brightening of his blue eyes. “You certainly know how to throw a party. I’m sure,” he leaned in closer, purring like a cat into Damen’s ear, “we would be forgiven for retiring early.”

 

* * *

 

“This is impossible,” Damen slurred, his hands blurring in front of his eyes. Laurent was laughing at him - _at_ him, not with him. Which was an important distinction. He was making a mockery of Damen's poor attempts at unlacing the golden ties from his Veretian jacket. Sober, he could do it with his eyes closed. It had taken several weeks of practise to get the knack of it, but he'd still figured it out. Intoxicated, though - well, that was clearly another matter all together.

“It’s not impossible, you’re just an idiot. And don’t pout at me, Damianos,” Laurent said, kissing the frown from his the corner of his lips.

The two of them were a tangle of limbs atop the mattress, Laurent somehow having ended up in Damen’s lap, trailing kisses along his throat while Damen fumbled inelegantly with his clothes. The touch of Laurent's skin was cool and smooth, like an icicle. It made Damen's insides burn with heat.

"Here, let me," Laurent said, pulling back. He placed a hand against Damne's chest and pushed him down onto the mattress. Damen went without protest, settling his large hands on Laurent's clothed thighs, watching him intently as if he were a master sculptor at work. With little effort, Laurent pulled the lacing free. "See, easy." He slid the jacket from his shoulders and tossed it to the floor, his shirt quickly following.

"It's like that wretched thing is designed to keep out potential lovers," Damen said. Laurent kissed his stomach, bringing a thousand dormant butterflies to life inside of it. 

"We Veretians are fond of pretty things," Laurent breathed, his teeth lightly grazing Damen's skin as he kissed him.

"Style over substance."

Laurent dug his nails into Damen's sides, and he gasped. Laurent traced his tongue over the ridges. "Style  _and_ substance. That must be why I like you so much."

He explored Damen slowly, both with his mouth and his hands. Kissing, biting and caressing until Damen may as well have been a pliant puddle beneath him. Tasting him, absorbing every fragment of his being. Learning each valley and crevice of his polished, shining skin and the hardened muscle beneath it.

"Damen," he whispered. And whispered again, his voice rough and low. "Damen."

Hazy though his mind was, Damen stiffened. He curled his fingers through Laurent's hair and tugged gently until Laurent would meet his eyes. He wasn't inebriated enough to let things slide, and even if he was he knew Laurent wouldn't dream of pushing him that far. "No," he said simply. 

"Why?" Laurent growled, his hurt and anger all mixed up as one. 

"You know why," Damen said. "I won't--"

"Fine," Laurent spat, climbing off of him. "Whatever the Akielon King demands."

"Laurent."

Laurent ran his fingers through his hair, dishevelling it further. His frame was still and taut like a well strung bow searching for a mark. When he turned to face Damen, his eyes were soft and sad. "Go to sleep, Damen. You need your strength."

"Laurent," he tried again.

This time Laurent smiled, ever so slightly, and placed a hand on Damen's calf. He squeezed it reassuringly. "Go to sleep."

Eyelids drooping heavily, Damen did.

 

* * *

 

When Damen woke, throat rough and body aching, there was a fire burning; bright orange flames licking up into the chimney and dousing the room in a warm dim light. Laurent sat beside it, curled up in the plush arm chair with a fat leather bound book balanced on his knees. His face was placid, but for a small frown between his brows.

And Damen's head _pounded_ like a drum beat.

The book Laurent read was a detailed Akielon history, famed for its unflinching depiction of battles through the ages and detailed descriptions of Kings and Queens otherwise forgotten. It had sat on Damen’s desk for many days now, Laurent seeming determined to finish it just to prove that he could – usually in the middle of the night. Damen himself had never read it in its entirety, he knew all the stories anyway.

“What time is it?” Damen asked, pushing himself up and rubbing at his sore eyes. His head pounded a vicious drum beat behind his eyes.

“Still a few hours until dawn. Go back to bed.” Laurent’s voice was softer than feathers in the warm haze.

Damen grunted. “Why are you--”

“I couldn’t sleep.” His frown deepened.

In the few short weeks that had passed since the Regent’s death several things had happened – the budding friendship beginning to blossom between their two nations and the many drunken celebrations that had followed being the most obvious. But Laurent himself had been different, and even less predictable than usual, occasionally growing distant and shirking off Damen’s concern with cold glares or affirmations of contentment. Frequently becoming quiet and withdrawn during the day, only showing Damen any kind of affection at night, and usually only after Damen had downed several pitchers already. Other times he became alarmingly forward in his desire, claiming Damen’s mouth with his own with a vigour that Damen hardly ever saw from him. Numbly, he remembered Laurent’s hands on his chest, lips against his throat, and a pained expression on his face when Damen had denied him what he wanted.

Even whilst Damen was drunk, Laurent’s advances had felt like a disguise, or a distraction.

Either way, whenever Damen tried to ask him about what had happened at the Kingsmeet and the day following, Laurent grew irritated with him and snarled like a rabid dog.

And then there were the nightmares.

Laurent never spoke of them, but the signs were becoming increasingly obvious with each passing night. Sometimes, when he awoke with Laurent asleep by his side, he watched his lithe form quiver, or lie frightfully still. Sometimes, he heard a hitching breath that struck him to his gut. Other times, he found Laurent reading by lamplight in the early hours of the morning.

“We need to talk about it.”

Laurent’s knuckles turned white and his face hollow as he held the book tighter in his grasp. “No, we don’t.” He snapped the book closed and dropped it to the floor, rising from his chair. Despite the distance between them, Damen could see the stiff set of Laurent’s shoulders.

“Come here,” he said.

Eyes wary and confused, Laurent studied him for a moment. “Do you want to fuck me now?” he asked, his tone lacking the vehemence behind his eyes.

When Damen’s first refusal had come, just a day after their kingdoms had been returned to them, Laurent’s hurt had been as obvious. With each rejection Damen handed him, he felt more and more like a brute and a coward, somehow. Seeing Laurent’s pain so clearly etched upon his face, and knowing he was the cause.

But he had remained unwavering, and after that first time Laurent had barely met his eyes for several days following. The thinly veiled tension faded and grew like the waning moon, and when Laurent shared his bed it was only to sleep beside him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Laurent said, folding his legs beneath himself on the edge of the bed. A quiet moment later he shuffled closer to Damen’s side, and Damen lay a hand over his and squeezed it.

“Fine, then I’ll talk.”

“Damen, don’t--”

Before the desperation in Laurent’s voice could stop him, he took Laurent’s face in his hands, let his thumbs trace over the sharp cheekbones. He tried to meet Laurent’s wide eyes, but they seemed insistent on staring straight through him.

“Whatever you may think, I’m not disgusted by you,” Damen said simply – words he’d been trying to say for _weeks_ that Laurent had evaded or ignored each time. Visions of Laurent at the Kingsmeet, urging him to leave before his uncle could spill his secret had plagued his thoughts ever since. Damen could still hear the fear in his voice from that day, the poorly obscured panic. It made his heart hurt alongside his head.

Well, Laurent couldn’t ignore his assurances now, not in the dark and fragile quiet. Damen said nothing else, letting Laurent absorb the words and understand them - _truly_ understand them. Through the delicate silence, Damen didn’t once look away from his perfect, unreadable face.

When Laurent spoke, his voice was a mere breath against Damen’s fingertips. “You’ve hardly touched me since – since them.”

With a pang of guilt, Damen realised it was true. He had kept his distance, tethered himself to Laurent only loosely in public, and kept their contact brief and chaste behind closed doors. Controlled himself, even whilst drunk, always preventing things from going too far. His own hesitancy, borne only out of fear of touching Laurent in some way that would bring back awful memories, must have seemed to him like revulsion. And how was he to know it wasn’t aimed at him when he so blatantly forbade them from talking of it?

“I only--”

“Shut up,” Laurent snapped, but his hands curled around Damen’s wrists, soaking up all the malice from his words. “You wanted me to talk, I’m talking.” He closed his eyes and breathed shallowly, holding tightly onto Damen’s arms as if to steady himself. He spoke quietly, into the darkness. “I know my uncle’s perversion is not my fault. But I also know that a man stronger than me would have stopped it. And I know I am damaged because of it.” Laurent’s words were devoid of any emotion, merely facts stated from some crevice deep inside his mind.

“You--”

“Don’t say I’m not,” Laurent spat, suddenly heated. His eyes snapped open, red and watery.

“You were only a child,” Damen whispered. “And you _aren’t_ damaged.

Laurent narrowed his eyes. “Are we done?”

“Not even close,” Damen said. He dropped his hands from Laurent’s face, slid them around his chest to pull him closer, Laurent’s back to his sternum. “I want to know everything.”

“You really don’t,” Laurent snorted.

Damen simply waited, holding him, with his head rested against Laurent’s shoulder. His lips placed kisses there.  Laurent’s breath came out in a bitter, jagged laugh.

“Do you think he had to prise my legs apart?” he hissed. “He didn’t. I was always ready, _waiting_ for him. He liked me to beg for it, so I did. Every time.”

“What happened if you didn’t?” Damen said patiently, carefully holding his hot rage well beneath the surface of his skin so it couldn't bubble up and burn them both.

Laurent shuddered, and his voice began to waver, barely perceptible, with emotion. “Nothing. Except he – he ignored me. Like I was invisible. The price for his attention was clear, and I chose to pay it.”

Blood ran white hot inside Damen’s veins, but he kept his voice gentle and his arms soft around Laurent’s chest.

“If you think you had much of a choice, you underestimate your uncle. You had just lost your brother, and your father. The only family that remained to you took advantage of your grief for his own--”

“Stop,” Laurent whispered, his voice quivering. “Please.”

Damen did, guilt turning in his stomach as he realised he’d been raising his voice in anger. He placed an apologetic kiss to Laurent’s collar bone.

“Are you ashamed?”

“Yes,” Laurent said instantly. His voice was thick and heavy.

“You have no reason to be.”

Laurent sagged against him, deflating, and Damen wrapped his arms more tightly around him. Neither of them spoke, the silence enveloping them both in a comforting warmth. Minutes passed, wrapping the two of them closer and closer together with each passing second. When the clock called the hour, Laurent weakened against him.

“What is it?”

“Auguste..." he murmured. "Auguste would be so disappointed." Damen felt knives slicing him open. Laurent keened forward, as if all the energy had been sucked out of him, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders shook with agony, and Damen realised how deeply those words had tormented him.

Laurent’s pain wasn’t rife with loud sobs, he buried it as deeply as he buried everything else. Held it down beneath lock and key. A silent tear splashed onto Damen’s knee, so Damen held him tighter.

He remained silent, pressing his lips to the notches of Laurent’s spine. He had no words to offer comfort, only himself. Nothing he could say would absolve Laurent of his grief, unless he forgave himself first. Learned and believed in his own heart that he was not at fault. It could take months, years even, for Laurent to reach that point. But Damen would remain by his side, no matter what.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this pretty quickly and it has not been beta'd, so please excuse any glaring errors.


End file.
